Quiet Confusion
by FluffleNeCharka
Summary: Having no past relationships, the good news is that X-23 loves people wholeheartedly. The bad news is, having been sheltered her whole life, she doesn't get that you're supposed to date people your own age. Charles XaiverX-23 oneshots and drabbles.
1. Tantrum

A scream had started it all.

The screaming started early on, once they'd all left for school. Everyone but her, that was, because she was too wild to be let out. The screams started as soon as Logan went out on his motorcycle and Ororo was out of earshot, leaving only the two of them on the first floor. At first he'd rushed over to her end of the house, convinced something horrible was happening. Instead he found he ripping apart the affectionately named junk room of the mansion. Screaming incoherently, some words and some growls, crying sometimes and glaring fit to kill the rest of the time, she was ruining the place.

But it was okay, because it was just junk. Charles watched her silently, and the screams became words more and more with time. Why me, why me, she screamed at first. I did everything they said, every last fucking thing, every mission PERFECTLY! And she begins to tear things apart, screaming perfect, perfect, perfect. Trashing things, ripping them apart, smashing them, out of control. I was always who you wanted me to be, always – and a lamp went hurtling past him at a wall. She wasn't aiming for him. She wasn't aiming at all, because she wasn't all here right now, X-23. She roared and grips a discarded piece of wood so hard it splintered in one of her hands.

Tears began to form in her eyes, then. Why did they hit me, why did they beat me, she screamed, and then flew into such a rage Charles is actually fearful, not for his life but for her sanity. She began to claw and rip at boxes, smash into chairs, throw herself into this destruction so full heartedly that she couldn't stop. Bruises and cuts that would have formed on her heal instantly as she began to growl, howl, shriek. How long can this go on? Tears were streaming down her face. She wasn't sad, however, he realized, she's just hurt.

And eventually, he learned everything he ever needed to know about her through her wailing. They beat her even when she did everything right. They threw her into all white rooms for days on end. They fed her poison randomly to see how strong she was. There's so much anger built up within her that she beats up the walls and the floor and turns broken objects into ceramic confetti. She wanted to kill them, all of them. An hour passed before she finally, hoarse and tired of screaming, collapsed.

Only then did she begin to cry, really cry, the tears of a defeated and downtrodden soul. She fell to her knees, buried her face in her hands, and sobbed like he's never seen anyone sob before in his life. Her body shook with it, the sound echoing in the now hollow room. She was only a child, not a weapon, he thinks to himself. His heart goes out to her, because the poor girl hardly had a choice in the matter–

Her claws came out, and rip across her arms in seconds, only to find she was suddenly unable to move them. Her head turned to stare at him, green eyes meeting his dark ones angrily. She hadn't known he could do that. "Let me go."

"No," he replied, with equal firmness. "I've let you have your tantrum, as all children must, but I cannot allow you to hurt yourself." He gestured around the room. "These are – were – things, replaceable objects. You aren't."

She stood then, on shaking legs, and walked over to him. Her eyes locked onto his, and her expression was utterly hollow. Defeated, she began to speak, slowly at first, then faster, rambling, a whirlwind of deeply pent up emotions tumbling out of her.

"I thought that if I stopped making mistakes, everyone would like me. But I stopped having flaws, I stopped screwing up. I was _perfect_ and no one ever stopped hating me. I don't know what to do anymore – everything gets so mixed up in my head and it all comes back to me and I just want someone to not hate me. I want to be under control without being like I was at Hydra. I don't know, I guess I just want to be normal and pretty and talk about what Kitty and Jean talk about and go to dances and school and all of that other stuff, but…" And now she finally slowed down from the ramble she'd worked up to, "I'm not sure if I'm ever going to be able to do anything other than this," she gestured to the demolished room, "and this," she gestured to her arm, which had completely healed in the past ten seconds.

Charles gently reached up to push her hair behind her ears, an affectionate gesture he'd seen Ororo do a hundred times. Her hand caught his, and she held it there mid-air, dumbly, like a child starved of affection to the point where she no longer knew what to do. Her eyes were locked onto his, searching, desperate for some glimmer of understanding. She was standing closer than ever before now. He could see faint scars crossing her caramel colored arms, but he wasn't repulsed and he didn't move back from her, merely taking both her hands in his. X-23 blinked at him, the gesture truly lost on her after so many years of abuse.

"Listen to me. You are not perfect," he squeezed her hands slightly when her face fell, "None of us are. We are all flawed, with problems and insecurities. Everyone feels angry and hurt, you see. It makes us human. It's part of being human to hurt, and it's part of being in a family to heal. And while I know you may feel hopeless, you need to understand something: You have a family here. Logan is your father; he's said as much to me in private. Ororo loves every person in this Institute like a son or daughter. The others? They are your siblings. We're here to help you, and we will. You'll get better, I promise."

She looked around the room and cringed self consciously, years of military training kicking back in. "I lost control. Completely."

"Yes," he agreed, "You did. You're not the first to do so and you shall not be the last. These things happen. One mistake is not the end of the world, especially not here. Not with me."

Her eyes well up then, and her hands grasp his – a little too tight for his liking, but that was fine given that it was her – and she buried her head in his shoulder, crying. If Kitty or Jean were to do something similar, he would have backed away instantly. But they had childhoods where they could cry, and they had parents who would care. Not her, not X-23. So he awkwardly allowed her to engage in yet another bout of uncontrollable emotions. Personally he'd rather have a sobbing X-23 than a lethally controlled and angry one any day of the week. Even as he lost feeling in his shoulder and realized with mild embarrassment that she was now half sitting in his lap, he tried to remain dignified and calm. She'd had enough instability for one lifetime.

"Are girls supposed to cry like this?" she blurted out finally, "Or this a side effect of how I was raised?"

"All girls cry. Usually into their pillows at your age, but I believe that you destroyed those before I entered the room," he smiled at her, to show her there was no hard feelings, and ruffled her hair. "It's fine."

"I need a name," she mused. "You keep almost ending sentences, but then you stop because I just have a codename."

"We'll work on that," he promised firmly, letting go of her hands at last. "And we'll work on getting you normal things, clothes and like, as well. You'll be fine, you'll see."

In response, she smiled – a very _un_-X-23 thing to do – and pressed her lips to his forehead, a gesture she didn't know the name of just yet. It was just something she'd seen on TV, and it seemed to please him, as the Professor smiled at her. Apparently that was a normal, or at least an alright response. Pleased with herself, she calmly left the room, to stalk the mansion in a very Wolverine like manner and bask in the morning sunlight. That had gone much better than anything in, well, her entire life actually. But something was off. Was she supposed to feel that butterfly feeling in her stomach when she did that… whatever the word for it was? She frowned to herself, debating whether or not to ask someone. Finally she just went back to her room, deciding it was nothing important.

And with that, X-23's first crush began, like most of her life, in quiet confusion.


	2. Gift

X-23 was embarrassed.

She didn't know why, but it annoyed her deeply to think of herself as a crying child. None of the other mutants cried, at least as far as she could see. They groaned and sighed and did all manner of things that confused her, but they didn't cry. The Professor seemed to take her tears well, but still, a lifetime of being glared at and told not to act so emotional had hardwired X-23 to be ashamed of any display of emotion. She'd just thrown herself at someone she barely knew and sobbed.

It was hard, reeling herself in. After years of being emotionless and reigning in every last stray thought, she'd snapped. After snapping, all control was gone. She didn't know how to act normal like the others. She just _was_, in a way that was pure and unfiltered. Screaming, fighting everything and nothing, angry. Tearful, wishing her life hadn't been hers. The two attitudes came out of her uncontrollably, as natural as breathing after so long living like a machine. Wolverine understood her struggle from within, and he had told her it'd help to beat something up once in a while. Something besides herself.

But all roads led back to beating up on herself. She didn't even know when it had all started or how she'd ever gotten the idea in her head. All her life, even before her claws, she'd scratched at herself. Alone, trapped away from anyone and everyone else, she had been desperate for any kind of feeling. She remembered being told not to once, until her healing factor began to kick in. Then they'd let her go for it. With her healing factor, there was no injury that ever required medical attention, though secretly she wished it did so someone would act like she mattered. The fact was, however, that she hadn't ever been treated like she mattered. No one had cared about her enough to try to stop her, and certainly no one had ever cared about her enough to hold her.

She smiled faintly to herself. Even on that night, having snapped so hard she could barely think, Charles Xavier had felt sympathy for her. Her mind was a hurricane at that point, of hate, anger, pain, envy so sharp it hurt and desperation so deep it was better than adrenaline. She had collapsed, cried, lost it if only for a few moments. Everything was chaos within her. And he, in spite of her being an intruder in his home, had felt for her. He sensed her inner struggle, though her thoughts were too jumbled for him to understand it.

And now, months later, he had accepted her back into his home. No questions asked, no second thoughts, no background or motivation check. Just a room for her, some clothes that the other girls had given up, and dinner. Her father was relieved to have her back – he stopped to look in on her once every night, though he thought she couldn't tell. Ororo was relieved she was alright, and the easiest person to talk to at first. It was the Professor, though, who had talked to her for long hours about her life before. X-23 couldn't tell Logan, because he got enraged at what had happened (truthfully he frightens her somedays). Ororo would be too horrified to listen. Charles Xavier would merely listen for as long as X-23 was willing to speak. He was quietly disturbed at what had happened, but he never pitied her. He was wary of her powers and screaming tantrums, but he was never afraid of her. He was loving towards her, but never condescending. He let her into his house and his life unhesitatingly.

Was this what normal life was supposed to be? Was this love? X-23 had asked Ororo for the definition of love, only to be given a horribly confusing answer. Love could be many things. There were many kinds that all fell under the same one word definition. The girl had groaned and rubbed her head, annoyed. She was having such a hard time following the explanation that Ororo rephrased it.

"Love is when someone does things for you, to make you happy, and doesn't expect anything in return." She'd explained gently. "They care about you. When you're upset, they're upset. When you're happy, they're happy. Do you understand?"

And she did, sort of. If that was love then Charles Xavier loved everyone in the house. What she did not understand was the way love worked. The others did not return the sentiment towards him somedays, the way they grumbled about even the most logical and practical rules the Professor imposed. They complained about it even when, through the utterly unclouded eyes of X-23, it all made sense. She supposed it was a normal kid thing, something she hadn't gotten yet. One day maybe she would grumble right along with them all, ignoring the huge difference he'd made in her life. She doubted it, though. There was no way she would ever be anything but awed by the Professor, by the way he took her flaws in stride and never dealt anyone a harsh word, let alone a blow.

X-23 was unsure as to whether or not she was in love. There seemed to be a difference, she was told, between feeling it and being in it. What that difference was, she wasn't sure. When Lance broke up with Kitty, he told her he loved her but wasn't in love with her. X-23 failed to see a difference. They both seemed to care about each other. Somehow there was some difference between their feelings? Then why would they act the same? Dear lord, she just couldn't get this concept. It made no logical sense, had no practical line of thought to it. Was this something a normal teen would have understood? She tried to take everyone's different answers and behaviors about the subject and figure out what applied to her.

She wanted Charles to be happy, of course. After all he'd done for her she was on call for anything he could dream of. If he'd told her to kill, she would, and if he told her to live, she would. He wanted her to be happy, so he had thus far demanded nothing other than basic good behavior from her. Hmm, dead end on that. Did he expect anything in return for making her happy? Not that she could see. Did she expect anything from him? Merely an ear to listen and a shoulder to cry hysterically onto. (Once. She would never let that happen again, she told herself firmly.) When she was happy, he was happy, because it meant that she was making progress. When he was happy, it usually meant she'd done or said something sane and normal for once. When she was upset…

Even when he didn't know her name, he was concerned for her. Even after she'd trashed a room for no reason, he worried over her. He loved her, didn't he? Already. She hadn't even done anything to earn it, and he loved her. Although she'd never seen him upset, X-23 tried to envision it. She pictured what it would feel like it someone hurt him. Her claws sprung forth in an instant, instinctually. If he was upset, if he cried? She could feel her stomach twist, though her emotionally stunted mind didn't comprehend what it meant. Was that nagging feeling, the worry she wouldn't know what to do – was that love?

It was, she decided. She had to wonder, however, why she didn't act the way the others did in love. Jean, Kitty, Rogue, even Scott sometimes blushed around their various love interests or even just plain attractive people. X-23 put a hand to her face, frowning. It didn't emit the heat the others faces did. The other stammered sometimes around one another, but the rate of it went way up around those they were attracted to. Well, X-23 _knew_ why she didn't do that. The habit had been quite literally beaten out of her a long time ago. She certainly never giggled like the girls did, even in private. There had never been anything to giggle about as a kid. X-23 frowned to herself. She wasn't very good at this love thing.

There had to be _something_ she could do as far as this went. She couldn't mimic those behaviors, because she was too new to life outside of work, but there had to be something. The best way to go about this, she decided, was to study love. Sitting down in the living room one day when the others were at school, she watched several varying shows on the subject. Most, thankfully, centered around what the woman should do, which was good since X-23 didn't even know where to start. The women on TV echoed what Ororo had said: listen to them, care about them, make them happy. Frustrated after three hours of television, she flicked it off and groaned. So much for her research. Ororo had said in a minute what these people took hours to get across. The only new thing she'd been told was to do something for him to make him happy. X-23 was at a loss there, as she had no money, no clue as to how to decide on a gift, and no means of transportation. She put her hands in her head, convinced that she had failed, right up until she heard a creaking noise.

Operating on sheer instinct, she pounced, and slammed into some kind of blur. That blur turned out to be Pietro, and Pietro turned out to be very cooperative when put in a headlock with claws held up to his neck. Half dragging, half walking with him, she found the Professor and her father talking about feeling that there was an intruder, and coughed pointedly.

And so, without a hint of embarrassment, X-23 learned to give.


	3. Stalker

She stalked him once.

It was something within her, and Logan, a primitive need. They circled, they sniffed the air, and they guarded. Like animals, wolves protecting their kin. In Logan's case he denied it, acting as if he simply had to. He viewed it as a job. But X-23 was younger, and she had no qualms about always being within a few yards of the Professor. She had done similar things, following students to school or randomly sitting down somewhere to sniff the air for long stretches of time. It was something that had been suppressed before in her life, honed to be used only for killing. But buried beneath that there was a protective side of her, and she followed him for a week.

Charles was well aware of her presence, although she didn't know it. He never saw her, he merely sensed her thoughts. Something had happened. She had woken up one night and been terribly on edge ever sense, a looming presence in the background. Wolverine sensed it too, only hours later, but while he was protecting them all, she singled out Charles Xavier. Her father tended to all kinds of little details while she quietly panicked, maybe the first really unfounded fear she'd ever experienced. It was doubtful she'd ever felt this way before, with Hydra guarding her from the outside world. There had been no one to put in danger whom she would feel an urge to protect. Now that she felt he was in danger, X-23 began to stay near him at all times.

She was growing more and more attached to him lately, Charles noted to himself. She talked to him more as time went on. The depths of what she'd experienced at Hydra, the nightmares that haunted her, and the lingering guilt in the back of her mind for those she had killed. As she became more and more human, she became closer and closer to him. Her dark green eyes met his when she spoke. X-23 hardly ever made eye contact that wasn't a glare unless it was with Charles. Was it possible that, for all his concerns over X-23 being able to attach to people, she had attached to him without either of them working at it? Thank God – the girl needed every connection she could get in her current state of mind.

So out of love, or what might have been at least attachment (it was hard to tell with her) she watched him. Her features were drawn into her disturbingly familiar glare, her claws were always out, and every so often she would freeze in place, frustrated. Like Wolverine, she did not know what she was fighting against. All she knew was that it threatened Charles and it was coming soon. When it did, she was going to be prepared. She hardly slept that week and ate as if starving. Unlike Wolverine, she had never been able to channel her emotions into anything productive. Not that Charles blamed her, or was creeped out by her – Wolverine had the exact same behavior, so it was quite probable she couldn't help herself. Still, he worried about how this stalkery would affect her future. Surely she'd have to learn to control it.

And she was more or less figuring it out, watching the others. Not so tense, not so ready to attack. Their alert calm slowly brought her down from fight or flight mode. Never completely. Not her. Nightcrawler or Shadowcat, perhaps, but not X-23, who was still ruled by years of military training and mutant senses she had never mastered. Despite herself she rushed down to his bedroom once, in the dead of night no less, to convince herself he was fine. Eventually Wolverine stopped his worrying, the sense having gone earlier that evening, but she stood outside the Professor's door all night.

She was rewarded, at precisely four eighteen that morning, with the fight from hell. Later on, Wolverine would curse the security systems and marvel at how anyone got in undetected. Storm would curse her own response time. The others would shudder at how the intruder made a beeline for the Professor. X-23 would growl at the mere thought of what had happened.

There was little warning, but X-23 knew a mutant when she smelled one. Not that she'd needed her sense of smell; the bone horns growing through the other girl's skull had made it clear she wasn't human. X-23 did not think before pouncing on her. Hydra had files on that kind of mutant, the kind with horns and telekinetic powers. They were assassins. They were lethal. _They were after Charles._ X-23 slammed into the girl from behind, hands clasping with a death grip around her throat. Body blows would just have been blocked. Headshots were useless because of their thick skull. But choking was just one of those things that would always be lethal, to everyone. The girl screamed, a brutal and childish sound. Invisible arms ripped at X-23, burning and searing her, trying desperately to tear her off. There was a sickening pop as something dislocate. Icy pain swept through her. Still she held on, until finally help arrived.

Charles knocked the would-be assassin out cold. X-23 stumbled backwards, clutching her right arm without expression. The pain would fade, and the injury would heal. Eventually. For now she sank to her knees, looking over at him through a waterfall of dark hair. He wanted an explanation. She could see it in his face.

"Seven is a clone of Lucy, another mutant Hydra captured. She kills people, when they're not experimenting on her." X-23 met his eyes, and her voice shook, if briefly. "I almost didn't catch her. She…"

He smiled warmly at her. "It's alright. I'm fine now."

Wolverine groaned. "They cloned _Lucy_? Psychopathic, humans-aren't-people, leaves a trail of bodies wherever she goes Lucy?" When his daughter nodded, he shook his head, muttered something about dumbasses, and hauled Seven's limp body off, to be secured so that she wouldn't kill anyone upon waking. Hank and Ororo ushered the stunned students off to bed.

That left X-23 and Charles. Alone. She stood, arm now fully healed, and shuddered. A minute off, a moment's rest, a shadow not caught, and Charles could be dead right now. She met his eyes. For once she didn't try to hold back her own expression, one of worry, relief and love blended together. She'd been very close to being too late, and without thought drew closer to him. A part of her felt the need to apologize. She could have prevented this, her mind told her, and her stomach twisted again, briefly. He looked up at her with concern, looking at if he hadn't just been about to die.

"Thank you for what you did tonight," he told her, and she heard him pause. He would not call her X-23, but there was no name to fill in the blank. Yet. "I didn't sense her coming, for some reason."

"There's a few like her. They can sense each other, but it's hard for other people to pick them up." She frowned to herself. "Seven has gotten stronger. I almost didn't catch her in time…"

He stopped her guilty tone by placing his hand on hers, if only briefly. Her skin was hot where it had rushed to repair itself. "But you _did_ stop her. That is all that matters. You don't need to blame yourself for a success." He looked up at her, unsure if he was getting through to her. "You're also not permanently injured, so as far as I am concerned, tonight was a success."

After a moment, she smiled. There was something strange happening within her right now, a soaring feeling. It was like sunshine from inside her. Happily telling him goodnight, her expression was utterly devoid of the scowl she'd had for so long. For a few moments, watching her, Charles saw genuineness to her he'd never seen before. Pride in what she had done, relief that he was safe, joy at being complimented. Beneath the layers of apathy and confusion, there was a protector underneath it all. Beneath that there was simply a person in love, who was currently very, very happy to be alive and have him alive.

With that Charles discovered her little crush. However, it being forty minutes after four, he decided it could wait until after he'd had more sleep.

He'd sleep soundly, knowing he had a well armed stalker.


	4. Naming

Names were harder to choose than she'd thought they would be.

With Logan as her father, her last name was set in stone. But her first name was a mystery to her. How did she choose? There were so many of them out there. Did she go by sound or meaning? Length or ethnic group? So many options presented themselves to her that she began making lists and narrowing them down to a hundred per letter. Military training kicked in and she began to systematically narrow the lists.

Anything hard to pronounce was passed over. She didn't want to be eternally saying, "No, it's not _that_," her whole life. Nothing impossible to spell was even considered. Why would someone spell a straightforward name like Abigail Ahbeeghaill? It made no sense to her. Arabic names were out, given the country's reactions to the Middle East lately. Nothing religious, because she didn't even begin to grasp religion. Nothing longer than seven letters, since X-23 wasn't used to the idea of nicknames and full ones either. She just wanted a name of her very own.

Nothing with X. She threw the whole list away. Nothing with numbers. She crossed out anything with even a remote number meaning. Nothing to do with blood, violence, death, darkness, war. A lot of the 'edgier' names Rogue had suggested went out the window with that decision. Nothing that reminded her of Hydra stayed on the list. A lot of names left with that, because of all the time she'd spent there, but she just couldn't take anymore reminders of what had happened.

Oh, for cryin' out loud, it was one name. One. She had seen Hydra staff pull operation names and classifications out of thin air. How could this be remotely hard? This was one, not a dozen. She began crossing names off the list out sheer annoyance. No, too long, too short, too cold sounding, too official sounding – off they all went. Soon she had abandoned logic and military training and just crossed off everything that came to mind. Annoyed, she crumbled them all into balls and restarted from the beginning, scribbling down a hasty top ten and going off in search of her father. He narrowed it down to three, handed it back to her and went on his way. Helpful, if a bit abrupt. Certainly it was nice to have it down to choices that could be counted on one hand.

She mulled it over as she walked the halls that night, a habit ever since that fateful night. Pausing at the Professor's door, she wondered if she was awake. Should she bother him? Would he welcome her company at this hour? Would such a strange question annoy him? She was truly beginning to think in terms of what made him happy now. Love TV and magazines said it was a good thing, the sign of a strong bond, but at moments such as these it made her hesitant, something she'd never been before. Finally she knocked, and he let her in. He was in his bed, reading something on genetics, a thick book he gladly set aside to give her his full attention.

"Ah, yes, the infamous list." He grinned good naturedly at her. "The other students have been quite interested in your endeavors. I suppose they'd all given you their suggestions?"

She nodded, drawing a little closer and gingerly sitting on the edge of the bed. Stressed, she ran a hand through her hair. "I've got it down to three. I just can't get past this. And I _need_ a name, a real one, not X-23. Can you help me?" she held the list out to him.

She was asking him to name her. The weight of such an action made him raise his eyebrows. She wanted and valued his opinion above that of her own father. She trusted him to pick the right one even though she didn't know enough about the world to know what a right name was. Smiling gently at her, he took the list in his hands. Logan had hastily crossed out seven, some more than others. He particularly decimated the Japanese names. Sighing, Charles looked it over. The names meanings were alongside them. Selene, moon. Given her tendency to be a night person, it made sense. Jaden, from jade. He frowned. The reference to her being jaded was sharp and half witty, half self-deprecation. It was a cold, empty, depressing idea, to name one's self something that had such reminder of the past. Granted the girl probably thought it was too pretty of a name to resist given its popularity lately, but he still wouldn't ever recommend it to her. The third was one Logan had clearly crossed out and begrudgingly erased. Aiko. From 'ai', love, and 'ko', child. Charles looked up at her.

"If you're asking me for my opinion, Selene is alright, although a bit overly feminine. Jaden is too much a modern this-year name, however. I think I prefer Aiko over the others." He handed it back to her. "It is your decision ultimately, though. I won't push you for one over the other."

"But Aiko has love in it," she objected, and without meaning to, she blurted out, "Can I even feel that after how I grew up?"

Startled, he raised his eyebrows, for once truly caught off guard. "Of course you can… Do you feel that you can't –"

Suddenly she turned to him, tears in her eyes. "I did terrible things. I didn't care. I tried to kill Logan. I couldn't stop myself. Sometimes I get so angry I just can't stop." The urge to harm herself went through her, but she fought it off by laying her head on his shoulder. "I was a monster. And I don't feel things like they do."

"Like who does?" he asked quietly.

"Them. Normal people. Other students. Teenagers." She closed her eyes tightly, fighting down tears because she had sworn to herself never to break down again. "I try so hard, but somedays I just feel _nothing_ deep down inside. What if I'm too messed up to have real feelings?"

In spite of himself, he wrapped an arm around her. Her startled forest colored eyes opened as he leaned into her, holding her closer than they'd been since when he discovered she hurt herself. For a moment she tensed, before forcing herself not to. It was hard to let herself be so much as touched after so many years of pain and abuse. There was a part of her that wanted to bolt out of the room, to unleash her claws, to cry. She fought it all down and laid her head back on his shoulder, relaxing slowly.

"Do you see what you just did?" he whispered to her. Charles gazed at her seriously. "You can change. These days without feeling will pass, as all things do. Those days where you hurt people are behind you already. You are a person, and you can be anything you want to be – you can _feel_ anything you allow yourself to feel. Don't you understand that?"

"I do now," she whispered back, and looked down seriously at the list in her hands. "Aiko. At least now you'll have something to call me." As if just now realizing her proximity to him, she pulled away abruptly, searching his face for disapproval. She found none, as unbeknownst to her he knew enough about psychology to expect such a thing. "Why didn't you ever call me X-23?"

"X-23 is a classification, a number. This is not Nazi Germany and I will never treat a person like a numbered object, Aiko." The name sounded unfamiliar to her, but infinitely better than what she'd had before. "People are always people, for all the evils they commit and the hardships they endure. To me, you will always be a close friend first and a name second. It's how I learned to think of people when my powers first manifested: their feelings and emotions were how I recognized them somedays, not their faces."

"You didn't call me X-23… because you don't believe in military names?" she paused at the door, face scrunched slightly in thought. "All these things you're telling me – is that why we didn't kill Seven?"

Charles nodded, looking far away for a moment. "To me she isn't Seven. She's a misguided girl who loves her father very, very much. She meant nothing by it. People will do things under love's influence they would never ordinarily conceive of."

Aiko sensed he was referring to more people than just Seven, and asked, "Professor?"

But he shook his head and sent her off without another word. Whatever his train of thought was, he was keeping it to himself for now. She quietly went to her room, letting the idea of having an actual name to answer to wash over her. A name. Because she was a person, not a weapon. She was a human being. And although she didn't understand the way she felt towards the Professor, the way her spirits soared when he was happy and her heart sank when he was in danger, she knew at least they were feelings. If she was capable of feelings, then she could love. Somehow just knowing she had the capacity was like having a weight lifted from her shoulders; she slept soundly that night for the first time all week.

And so, Aiko found out names weren't so hard to come by after all.


End file.
